


You've Got What it Takes to Save the World

by Winsextr



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Fluff, Grantaire accidentally makes friends, Idk i was bored and this election is so weird that this happened, M/M, Political Campaigns, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winsextr/pseuds/Winsextr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This really isnt Grantaire's fault. He didnt try to make friends. It just kinda happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I know very little of how American politics actually works other than what I know from living in America and being into politics. I don't really know how to run a campaign at all, so please dont kill me when I make a lot of mistakes.  
> Second of all, I really, really, REALLY like Les Mis political aus.

Grantaire was having one of his classic _oh shit_ moments.

I mean, this really wasn’t his fault. He had done his best to stay out of it. He had made excuses as to why he never went to any of the non-political get-togethers, made sure to be extra obnoxious (and that was really saying something, because Grantaire was always really obnoxious,) and had refused to play monopoly with Courfeyrac that one time (which sure, that might have been because they were playing for cash and Courf was known as a monopoly champ, if that was possible.)

So it was not his fault at all when Bahorel turned a reporter for CNN down because “this is just for members of the team, sorry,” and then ushered Grantaire into the restaurant where Enjolras was giving his “we somehow managed to win the democratic primary election so now you all get to continue going through this hell until the actual election” speech.

Ok, so maybe Grantaire had brought the team coffee every so often, and _maybe_ he had given his advice to the group once in a while, but this really wasn’t his fault.

Seriously.

So that was how Grantaire found himself seated next to Eponine and Jehan in the basement of some random restaurant, trying to pretend that he was very, _very_ upset over the events that had happened this fine evening.

Once they had ordered appetizers (garlic bread covered in melted parmesan cheese, Grantaire really should have been going out with these guys more often, except that _no, he shouldn’t have, because this was all a big mess and really he should just stop thinking_ ) and too much beer, Enjolras rose to his feet.

He was a little tipsy and wobbled a little bit as he stood, but the dim lighting of the restaurant cast a haze around his head that made the his stray hairs (which, honestly, weren’t all of his hairs stray? The poor man couldn’t tame his curls for the life of him,) glow like a halo, and he had a broad and easy smile on his face, something that was a rarity, especially with the stress of campaigning.

Grantaire didn’t miss the fact that the servers stood around the edges of the room, all excited to see the young, idealist presidential candidate who had swept across the nation like a storm, in his natural habitat. He didn’t blame them, a free and unrestrained Enjolras was a wonder to see, and _he really shouldn’t know that._

“Ladies, gentlemen, and every other beautiful human who has graced this fair planet,” Enjolras began, raising a glass in Jehan’s direction, and _oh God,_ Grantaire thought, grinning, _this was already amazing._

“I would like to thank each of you for your help in this campaign. I would never have gotten this far if not for everyone who sits around this table,” Enjolras continued, and damn if that didn’t make Grantaire’s heart twist. “You are all incredibly hard working, so passionate, and my absolute best friends. You keep me on track,” a nod to Combeferre, “you remind me of why I started this campaign in the first place,” one to Courfeyrac, “and you keep me on my toes,” and oh fuck, he’s grinning at Grantaire, and Grantaire thinks that he might need to go to the hospital because the alcohol hasn’t doused the fire in Enjolras’s eyes, its only pulled it back to a warm glow.

“So, I guess I just want you all to know that I love you all and I’d be lost without you. And I don’t mean that in the cheesy way most politicians say it, I honestly mean that with all of my heart. Now, let’s win the presidency!” Enjolras finished off.

The room erupted into cheers, starting with Courfeyrac, who was whooping at the top of his lungs. Grantaire was the last to join in, still reeling from that look from Enjolras, the one that made him simultaneously want to push him against the wall and punch him in his perfect teeth, but when he did join in it wasn’t the kind of clap that you do when you’re obligated, it was honest and true.

One of the waitresses had teared up, and when she came over to take their orders for dinner, she was beaming at Enjolras and asked shakily if she could shake his hand. Of course he said yes, and Grantaire watched as the girl took a deep breath and studied herself. For the first time, Grantaire found himself considering the possibility of them actually winning this thing.

Too late, he realized that he had thought of himself as part of this group. Fuck his life, fuck his luck, and _fuck_ Enjolras, who was ruining Grantaire, the Pulitzer-prize winning journalist’s, life.

Of course he would choose to follow this campaign. And of course, he would get attached. Grantaire really needed to stop, he needed to get out, but Feuilly had proposed a toast, and Jehan was nudging Grantaire to raise his glass, and Grantaire couldn’t help himself, because the clinking of beer glasses was the very sound of friendship and Grantaire was so royally screwed.

Grantaire managed to last the entire dinner without imploding, a fact that he congratulated himself on as he stepped into the fresh air and took a steadying breath, and he was thinking that he might just survive, but then they were all piling into Jehan and Eponine’s cars, the indefinite designated drivers (because both of them had had shitty experiences with alcohol, and were worried that they would become the person that their father was,) and suddenly Grantaire was crammed between an over exuberant Courfeyrac and a subdued Enjolras.

Why Combeferre got the front seat while the actual presidential candidate was resigned to the back was a mystery to Grantaire, but he wasn’t complaining because Enjolras was smiling softly to himself and looked like a very sleepy angel. And happened to be leaning slightly on Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire was so, so screwed.

Grantaire had known going into this thing that Enjolras was attractive, and by extension Grantaire would be attracted to him. He didn’t lie to himself (except about being friends with people apparently, but shut up,) and had accepted this fact within three minutes of meeting the asshole. What he hadn’t counted on with the love part.

Oh yes, Grantaire was very, _very_ screwed.


	2. Gasoline, It Don't Burn as Fast as Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory on how they came to find themselves here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings for this chapter:  
> Grantaire has PTSD from a past assignment, and there is a reference to a kid dying at the end of the chapter.
> 
> This fic turned out angst-ier than I thought it would. Whoops.

Some backstory as to how Grantaire found himself in the horrible situation of having friends who liked and respected him for his personality rather than his Pulitzer:

 

When Enjolras announced his campaign, it was met with laughs from the few who had even heard that it had happened. He was barely old enough to run and considered a naïve idealist from Nowheresville, Maine. The media wouldn’t even give him the time of day.

Meanwhile, Grantaire was an award winning journalist/photographer who had made a name for himself for his work in the Middle East, where he also learned not to get attached to anyone. He came home to a Pulitzer and PTSD. Fun times.

Enjolras was gaining popularity with younger people as he traveled around, visiting university after university. The other man who was running for the democratic candidacy, a weak willed man who posed no threat to changing the comfortable lives of most of the more wealthy voters, and had gained popularity due to this, still wasn’t taking Enjolras seriously. Still, they needed someone to debate him, and so Enjolras was given a chance to prove himself.

Grantaire’s therapist, who he had been persuaded into seeing by Cosette, the photographer he had worked with in the Middle East, told him that he should start doing some easy, safe work. Try to get back into the swing of things rather than steeping in his own thoughts in his darkened bedroom. So, Grantaire decided to follow the nobody candidate who had little to no chance of drawing anyone’s attention.

Grantaire joined the campaign the day before the first debate. He was brought into the office by a rather busy Courfeyrac, who simply said “this is everyone,” gesturing around the room as he rushed off to Enjolras’s side. “Do whatever it is that you do,” he called over his shoulder.

An intern took Grantaire aside and explained everyone’s position. Courfeyrac was head of communications, Combeferre (the tall man with the thick rimmed glasses) was the campaign manager, and Joly (a short man with curly red hair and a bright smile,) managed the interns and volunteers. Bossuet (the bald man who Grantaire saw was extraordinarily clumsy within three seconds,) managed the campaign’s social media, although his main job was apparently emotional support, Eponine was the political strategist (the intern didn’t have to point her out, as at that moment she stood on a chair in the middle of a debate with Courfeyrac and screamed “ _BECAUSE I’M EPONINE FUCKING THENARDIER_.”)

This startled Grantaire a bit, and he expected Enjolras to tell her off, but it was clear that this was a common occurrence. The journalist was amazed, he had covered many campaigns, but never before had he seen a group of people this much at ease with one another, much less in politics.

The intern continued. The huge, ripped man was Bahorel, the head of security (go figure) which was more out of hope that the campaign would gain enough popularity for anyone to actually try to hurt them, rather than current necessity. Jehan (the thin, willowy one with flowers braided into their hair,) wrote the speeches, as they were apparently very poetic. Feuilly (a busy man with a face full of freckles,) well, no one really knew exactly what he did, other than just about everything. And Enjolras…

Enjolras was running around like the rest of them, his hair a mess, button-down shirt undone, revealing his black undershirt beneath the bright red, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie so loose that Grantaire wasn’t sure what the point of it was other than to look hot (if that was true, it was doing its job very well.) He had glasses on and Grantaire had his first “oh shit” moment in their company, because no one had warned him that Enjolras wore glasses, so Grantaire hadn’t had time to emotionally prepare himself for this. The glasses were slipping down his nose as he bent over a desk, furiously scribbling on Jehan’s one-hundreth draft of his opening speech. Grantaire made sure to get a few pictures, as this would look great if the campaign actually gained any momentum.

Enjolras finally straightened, saw Grantaire, and strode over with an exhausted smile on his lips.

“Hey,” he smiled, offering Grantaire a hand. “I’m Enjolras. You must be Grantaire? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Guilty as charged,” Grantaire laughed, shaking the hand. And then, because he’s an awful little shit who hates himself, he added, “So you’re the idealist who still thinks that he can change the world?”

In a millisecond, Enjolras’s eyes narrowed and the warmth behind them was replaced by a scalding fire. “I’m not an idealist, I’m a realist. And I don’t think that I can change the world, but I do know that _we_ can. If we can get the nation to unite behind us, not only will we be in a position to bring about change, but it will be a sign that the American people will be ready for it.”

Grantaire really shouldn’t piss off the (insanely attractive, and wow, Grantaire is trying to ignore how hot that little speech was,) man within five minutes of arriving, but he can’t help himself. “That’s assuming you get elected, which seems pretty damn unlikely at this point.”

He really should learn to get a hold of his evil mouth.

Instead, he just moved away to the outskirts of the room before Enjolras could reply, busying himself with snapping pictures of the team and forming a possible article in his mind.

Of course, as soon as Enjolras had the chance to speak, a million people fell in love with him and decided to contribute to his campaign. And, perhaps more of a miracle than that, day by day, Grantaire became a little bit less of an asshole, and found himself believing a little bit more in Enjolras.

Which is how Grantaire found himself carrying a sound asleep Enjolras up to his apartment. He was relatively light, and Grantaire had no problem holding him bridal style. He wasn’t certain why Combeferre or Courfeyrac hadn’t done this, as they had both known the man since elementary school, but Grantaire suspected that it was because they were both terrible, terrible people.

He dumped Enjolras on the bed, took a quick picture for future black mail, and tugged the covers around the man. He didn’t bother changing Enjolras into more comfortable clothes, as he refused to allow himself to become a cliché, but he did allow himself a moment to gaze on the man who had just become the democrat presidential candidate.

“Sleep tight, sunshine,” Grantaire whispered, before exiting the apartment and locking the door with the key that Enjolras had given him when they were having random team meetings at his apartment in the middle of the night whenever Enjolras started freaking out because “ _Oh my god there’s still so much to do you all have to come pull an all-nighter with me so we can get this all sorted_.” Which, it really should have been a sign that he was getting too close to the group when he was included in late night strategy sessions, but Grantaire had always known that he was an idiot.

“So, anything happen,” Eponine asked as Grantaire returned to his seat.

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you,” Grantaire grumbled.

Courfeyrac badgered Grantaire for details for the rest of the drive, (“ _Seriously_? You didn’t help him out of his clothes? Have you never read a cheesy romance novel? You’re hopeless.”) (Which, was Grantaire really that obvious? Did Enjolras know? He should be more careful,) but Eponine seemed to take pity on the poor man and dropped him off at his apartment next.

Grantaire’s nerves were on edge, so he drank a beer, and then another, and then one more before finally being able to get to sleep. Even then, his rest was plagued by images of the last time he had gotten too involved. The last thing that he saw before he woke up was a little boy dead on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Houndmouth's "Gasoline."


	3. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire felt like he was going to die. “Help,” he whispered, his voice strained and broken.
> 
> “Grantaire? Shit, are you okay?” Enjolras’s voice was fiercer, more awake.
> 
> “Help,” Grantaire repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for Grantaire having a panic attack in this chapter, in case that is triggering to any readers. 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who is reading this!

So maybe Grantaire is a little freaked when he wakes up.

Maybe he’s a little more than a little freaked.

He was drenched in sweat, breath choked and hard, his chest restricting. God, his whole body felt tight, he just needed to get out. He wanted to claw off his skin and escape, but instead he grabbed his phone with trembling fingers and called the first name that he saw and recognized.

Which happened to be Enjolras.

The phone rang twice, and Grantaire remembered that Enjolras was sound asleep, and he had tears running down his face and he couldn’t fucking breathe, and he was about to hang up when Enjolras answered.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice muddled with sleep.

Grantaire felt like he was going to die. “Help,” he whispered, his voice strained and broken.

“Grantaire? Shit, are you okay?” Enjolras’s voice was fiercer, more awake.

“Help,” Grantaire repeated.

“Fuck, okay, I’ll be there in a second, keep talking to me,” Enjolras ordered, and there was rustling as he shifted the phone to his shoulder so he could get dressed.

Grantaire was still sucking in breaths and he couldn’t talk, hell, he couldn’t breathe, so he just sat there gasping like a fish, curled into a ball on the floor next to his bed, rocking back and forth as Enjolras soothingly talked him through this.

God, Grantaire thought, he must be so annoying to Enjolras, and he’s a mess, and Enjolras was going to lose any respect for him that he had, and then there was pounding on his door, but Grantaire couldn’t fucking move.

There was a muffled “fuck, shit,” as Enjolras dug in his pocket for his spare keys to Grantaire’s apartment that Courfeyrac had left at his apartment, and then the door was unlocked and Enjolras was running around Grantaire’s apartment, calling for him.

“In here,” Grantaire managed to gasp, and the door to his bedroom was flung open as Enjolras ran into the room.

“Fuck, Grantaire,” he breathed as he crouched down beside Grantaire, wiping away his tears. “It’s okay, you’re fine, everything is fine.”

Which is how Grantaire found himself with his face buried in Enjolras shirt as he sobbed out cries of “Christ, he was just a kid.”

Enjolras just stayed there with Grantaire, muttering soothing words, until Grantaire couldn’t cry anymore and his panic attack was calmed.

Grantaire just clung to Enjolras, even when his breathing was back to normal and he didn’t want to rip himself apart anymore. “Christ, Apollo, I’m so sorry, it’s the middle of the night and you should be asleep, I can’t believe that I called you-“

“Grantaire, shut up. I’m so glad that you called me, you shouldn’t have to deal with this shit alone. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Grantaire looked up to watch Enjolras’s face. “You and me?” He said, gesturing to the two of them, “we’re not exactly close. Besides, what was I gonna say? Hi, I’m Grantaire and I have PTSD because I watched a kid that I had worked with for weeks die in front of me?”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “Fuck, I didn’t realize that it was that bad. I mean, the papers just said that you had returned home after you were put in a situation in which you were unable to continue your work, it never said-“

“Yeah, the papers never do say.” Grantaire muttered roughly. “Look, Apollo, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I just sometimes have these…things.”

Enjolras looked like he was fucking heartbroken. “I’m glad you called me.” He said at last.

“I shouldn’t have. You’ve got shit to do.”

“I’m glad you called me,” Enjolras repeated, more forcefully. Grantaire ducked his head, resigned. “I’ll stay here until morning, if that’s okay?”

Grantaire was still shaking, but he managed to stand. “Yeah, Apollo, it’s not like I’m gonna kick you out after you helped me get through a panic attack. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch-“

“Fuck off,” Enjolras grumbled, and he helped Grantaire back into the bed and left the room to go to the couch.

Once it was a reasonable hour, Grantaire woke to the smell of something burning. For a moment, he panicked, because holy shit, fire, and then the memories flooded back. He continued panicking, because holy shit, Enjolras.

Grantaire stumbled out of his room after pulling on sweatpants and a tee-shirt. Only then did he realize that Enjolras had come to comfort him while Grantaire was wearing only his boxers. Fuck his life.

When he walked into the joint living room and kitchen, he was greeted with a very ruffled Enjolras eating cereal at his table. “Um, hi,” the man said when he saw Grantaire. “I was trying to make scrambled eggs since I’m sure that you’re exhausted, but I forgot that I couldn’t cook. So.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, you can’t cook scrambled eggs? My Goddaughter can cook eggs, and she’s five years old.” He shook his head, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

“You have a godchild? You never really talk about yourself,” Enjolras askes, genuinely curious.

Grantaire mentally kicked himself. “Well, I’m here to work, not to talk about my friends,” he shrugged.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that really how you feel about us?” he asked with a quiet anger.

Grantaire lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry Apollo, I do know how much you like a good argument, but I’d rather not start the day off with a fight.”

They fell into an uneasy silence, both eating their cheerios, until Grantaire finally said, barely above a whisper, “her name is Lillian. I work with her mother, Cosette, and I went to college with father, Marius.” Enjolras had stopped eating. ‘When we came back, Lillian and her dad were there at the airport, waiting for us. Cosette was a wreck, she’d hated being away from her little girl, and after-“ he paused.

“After the incident,” he continued, “she couldn’t stop thinking about Lillian, so when the little toddler came barreling over, Cosette just had tears streaming down her face and she held her little girl so tight. I remember thinking, you know the world’s a really shitty place, but at least we’ve got this, right?” He shook his head gently. :And when Cosette finally released Lillian, she came over to me and pretty much scaled me until I was holding her, and she said to me, stumbling over her letters, ‘R, daddy says that you’re hurt, and that I’ve got to get you better.’”

Enjolras was looking at the journalist like he was something that could break at the lightest touch. “Grantaire…”

“Stop,” Grantaire interrupted. “Apollo, just stop. I don’t need you watching me like that. I’m fine.” He took a deep breath before taking their bowls and placing them in the dishwasher. “I’m sure that you need to change before heading off to work.”

Enjolras nodded reluctantly and stood. “Alright. I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ve got a job to do. And, thank you, Apollo. Sorry for disturbing your rest.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something, but stayed silent. He simply nodded and departed, leaving to change before driving to the office. Grantaire watched the car drive away, and did his best to convince himself that he wasn’t getting too close.

Spoiler alert: he failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Mumford and Son's "After the Storm."  
> Any comments are REALLY appreciated!


	4. My Lonely Heart Beats Relatively Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire goes back to the office and gets some news from Cosette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what I'm doing good lord

By the time Grantaire arrived at the office, things were already underway. The team was preparing for their press release in response to winning the democratic candidacy. Enjolras had already made a short speech before being dragged away to dinner, but they needed another statement. Grantaire knew that Jehan had already written this speech months ago, but they were revising it to work in more current events. Enjolras was busy rehearsing, but he shot Grantaire a worried smile over the paper.

Grantaire got a few pictures and scribbled down some notes on a pad of paper to use for an article before stepping out into the hallway and dialing Cosette.

“R! How are you doing?” She cried into the phone, her voice bright.

“I’m alright. I had a bit of a rough night though. Do you mind if I talk to Lil for a couple minutes? She can always be trusted to brighten my day.”

“What, and I can’t?” Cosette laughed, but it was strained and Grantaire could tell that she was worried about him. “I’ll put her on. Just, hold on after you two are done. I wanna talk to you. Also, I have some news!”

There was the sound of the phone being passed, and then Lillian’s happy voice filled the phone. “R!” she cried, just like her mother, only she stumbled over the sound.

Grantaire grinned. “Lil! How are you?”

_“Gooood_. I miss you though. Mama doesn’t let me have any cookies.” She sounded very put out over this.

Grantaire slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor of the hallway, a grin across his face. He talked to the little girl for a few minutes, listening to her talk about her school and the latest embarrassing incident concerning her father. When she finally said goodbye, she put Cosette back on the phone.

“So what happened last night?” she asked immediately, sounding concerned.

“I had another nightmare, which led to another panic attack,” he grunted, trying to play it off.

“Christ, R. Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjolras came over and helped talk me through it. He’s a good guy, even if he’s idealistic and annoying. Unfortunately, he’s also part of the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I think I had the nightmare because I’m getting close to the people I’m working with again.”

Cosette was silent for a moment, and Grantaire could practically see her chewing her lip and frowning. “Well, R, it’s not the worst thing in the world to make friends. And this is a low-risk assignment. I know it’s hard, R, you know I do. Hell, it was a week before I left my apartment.”

“I know. I really do, I recognize that there’s no logical reason for me to act this way. I just… do.” They were both silent for a long moment. “Anyways, what is your big news?”

Cosette didn’t seem ready to let this go, but she moved on just the same. “Now that Enjolras won the primary, he’s a big enough deal that every photographer is trying to get assigned to him. And I happen to be one of them.”

“Oh thank God,” Grantaire breathed. “I can’t stand working without you.”

“Well, I actually need a favor. See, the Enjolras campaign is not big on press working closely with them. The only reason you were able to get a spot was because you joined on when they were still desperate for any attention they could get. So, I was wondering if you could put a word in for me?”

“Of course. Will Marius and Lillian come with you?”

“I think we’ll probably rent a small apartment in town. Of course, they won’t travel with me everywhere as we follow the campaign, but yes, you will get to see them.”

Grantaire punched the air. “I’ll go talk to Courf right away. He manages communications, he’s probably who you want. Love you Cosette. Give Marius my best.”

“See you R.”

He hung up hastily and went back into the main office. Courfeyrac was bent over the desk with Jehan, Enjolras, Combeferre, and Eponine, but when Grantaire called “Courf, could I talk to you for a sec?” he straightened, made one last comment, and ran over to Grantaire.

“Course, R. Um, how are you doing? Enj told us what happened…” he was wincing slightly, his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

Grantaire tried not to be put out with Enjolras for telling the others, and failed. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I’ve got a friend, Cosette Fauchelevent-Pontmercy.” Courfeyrac made a face. “A mouthful, I know. You know, it could be even worse, for the first part of her life she was raised by the Thenardiers, so she could be Cosette Thenardier-Fauchelevent-Pontmercy. Anyways. She’s a photographer that I’ve worked with throughout my career. She’s brilliant, and looking for a position with the campaign. It would mean the world to me if you-“

“Got it,” Courfeyrac said, grinning. “I mean, I’ll have to interview her, and confer with the others, and more fancy shit, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, Enj doesn’t like working with the press-“ at Grantaire’s smirk, he hastened to add “not you of course, but, oh shut up-“

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re really making me reconsider.”

Grantaire pretended to zip his mouth closed.

“Anyways, Enj doesn’t typically like working with the press breathing down his throat, but I bet that I can talk him around using all of my charm.” Grantaire tried not to snort. Courfeyrac glared but continued. “I actually think I know her husband. Marius?”

“Yeah! You know him?”

Courfeyrac was nodding enthusiastically. “Best friends in high school. Lost touch with him for a little bit. I heard he had a kid?”

Grantaire smiled. “Yeah, I’m actually her godfather. If you give Cosette a job, you can see the little girl.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Is this bribery.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Probably. Just don’t tell the press.”

“You are the press.”

Grantaire considered this. “Oh yeah.”

Courfeyrac laughed loudly. “Courf, stop goofing off and come help us,” Combeferre called over.

“Yes honey!” Courfeyrac yelled back sarcastically, before he turned back to Grantaire. “Alright. And R, you’re sure that you’re okay?”

Grantaire nodded, a smile plastered on his face. “Yep. Get back to work. I’m pretty sure that if Ferre doesn’t get to you first, Enjolras will have your head.”

As Courfeyrac ran back to the table, Grantaire met Enjolras’s eye.

“You okay?” Enjolras mouthed. Grantaire just gave him a thumbs up, trying to ignore the way that those bright blue eyes narrowed in concern.

He was very far from okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Jason Isbell's "Relatively Easy"  
> I'm trying to update every Sunday. I'm hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Shovel and Rope's "Save the World."   
> Comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
